Touch Me (7 page)

Chapter
Eleven

They’d
arrived at the business event, and God, did Freya feel out of place. She stared
at the incredible house she was in, or more accurately, the mansion. It was
huge, three stories high and as wide as she could see. The event, from what
Elijah had told her briefly, was about fundraising for a cervical cancer
center. The wealthiest of men and women were at the event, and they hoped to
raise enough that they’d be able to break ground by next year.

The
decorations were extravagant and lavish, with crystal chandeliers, butlers in
livery, soft classical music being played, and people dressed in gowns and
tuxedos. It was like money dripped from the ceiling, and that was the biggest
reason Freya felt like she didn’t belong. Her father may have had money, but
he’d never gone to functions like this. He was modest in most ways, and she’d liked
that kind of lifestyle.

She’d
been here for the last half hour, with Elijah by her side the whole time. They
were currently moving up the massively wide staircase, Elijah holding her hand,
and a champagne glass in her other.

A
young man dressed just as impressively as everyone else here, strikingly
handsome, and who had a thick European accent, walked up to them and started
speaking with Elijah. Freya stared at Elijah as he spoke with the man, and she
couldn’t help but feel her body heat at the remembrance of what they’d shared
in the limo. She thought about how he’d touched her, whispered filthy words to
her, and the promise of what he could give her between the sheets. She wanted
to leave the event now, go to his cabin, and just let him claim every part of
her.

God,
she needed to calm down or she’d end up embarrassing herself.

The
upper level of the mansion looked like it had been cleared out for the event.
Table and chairs dressed in crisp white linen now covered the flooring that was
covered in thick, gold-hued plush carpet. There was a balcony lining the top of
the landing, beautiful scroll worked wrought-iron bars that looked like they
sparkled with crystals because of the lighting from the chandeliers.

It
was a gorgeous atmosphere, and she felt lucky she was able to experience it,
especially with Elijah.

Elijah
moved closer to her, took her arm and slipped it in the crook of his. He placed
his hand over hers, continuing to speak to the man about a merger. After about
five minutes the men parted ways, but before they could move as well Elijah
turned her in his arms and pulled her close. He tipped her head back with a
finger under her chin, smiled down and her, and leaned in to kiss her softly.
It was sweet, but arousing all in the same breath.

He
broke away, breathed out harshly, as if he were having trouble with the act,
and then led her over to one of the tables marked “Reserved” in elegant script.
It had only been a few weeks they’d shared together, but they had been
incredible weeks, ones she hoped she experienced more of with him.

He
pulled out the chair for her, and she felt her face heat as she blushed. “Thank
you,” she said, and took the offered seat. He leaned in and kissed the top of
her head, and then took a seat beside her. More people came and sat at their
table, and before too long waiters in black and white livery were setting
plates of exquisite looking food in front of them.

They
ate for the next half hour, the people at the table striking up conversation
that was mainly about the fundraiser and not so much on a personal level. But
Freya didn’t say much anyway, and just listened.

 
“Will you dance with me?” Elijah asked after
they’d finished eating and had a glass of wine. His face was close to hers
again, and his cologne swirling around her was intoxicating, drugging almost.

“No
one has ever asked me to dance.” She swallowed back her embarrassment, but then
chuckled when he cocked a brow, as if surprised. “I might humiliate you with my
inexperience, and the fact I’ll be stepping on your toes the whole time,” she
teased. Of course she could dance, but lightening up the atmosphere was fun,
and she liked doing it with Elijah.

He
brushed his thumb along her jawline. “As long as you’re the one stepping on my
toes, I’d be the luckiest man to have you in my arms.”

God, where had this man come from?

He
stood, held his hand out for her, and after she got her knees to stop shaking
from her affection for Elijah, she slipped her open palm in his and stood.
Elijah led her to the center of the open floor that was clearly for dancing,
and as the soft classical music played around them, she let herself fully
embrace it all.

But
as she rested her head on his chest, let herself just slip into the wondrous
embrace that Elijah provided, and was about to close her eyes, everything
stilled in her. There, across from her and only a few feet away, was Meghan
sitting at one of the tables. She was dressed in a gorgeous red gown, diamonds
in her ears, around her neck, and covering her fingers. A man sat beside her,
at least in his seventies, although looking good for his age. He also screamed
wealth, which was the type of man Meghan went for.

“Oh
my God,” Freya whispered, not meaning to say it out loud, but knowing she had
when Elijah pulled back and looked down at her with confusion.

“What’s
wrong?”

For
a second she couldn’t speak, especially not when Meghan started laughing. She
tilted her head back, the diamonds on her neck catching the light. And then she
turned her head slightly, lifted her hand to get the waiter to notice her, and
for a second their eyes locked on the other. Meghan blinked a few times,
straightened, and realization covered her face.

“Freya,
sweetheart?” Elijah turned and looked over his shoulder, and the shock on
Meghan’s face when she saw the man Freya danced with was Elijah was like a slap
to Freya’s face.

It
was like time stood still, like neither could move or speak. Hell, they
couldn’t even breathe. Then, because this wasn’t awkward enough, Meghan said
something to the older man, stood, and started walking over to them.

“God,
of course this is getting worse,” Freya whispered, and when she tried to move a
step back from Elijah she was surprised that he kept her close to him.

“Fuck
her, Freya.”

That
had Freya smiling.
Yeah, fuck Meghan.
But
that was easier thought and said than what their reality really was.

“Oh
my God, I wasn’t sure if that was you two, but here you are, in the flesh,”
Meghan’s nails-on-a-chalkboard voice was as loud and clear as ever, and it
reminded Freya of all the times she’d been in the house with her.

“Meghan,”
Elijah said in a tight voice, but still kept Freya close to him.

Meghan
stared at both of them for a few seconds, and then there was realization on her
face.

“What
the fuck?” Meghan said in a soft, but still screechy voice. “Are you two…
”
She let that hang in the air, and when Freya and Elijah
didn’t deny anything, Meghan snorted, shook her head, and a look of disgust
covered her face. “Is this what you two were doing when I wasn’t at home?” she
looked pointedly at Elijah. “Were you fucking her while married to me?” Meghan
raised her voice, and Freya noticed several people looking over at them.

“Keep
your damn voice down,” Elijah said, and pulled Freya behind him. “And I’d never
do that while I was married, and to a teenager. You’re sick.”

Meghan
crossed her arms over her chest, glared at both of them, and then shook her
head again, as if she couldn’t believe any of this. “So then how did all this
come about with you two?”

“It’s
not your business.” Freya was the one to speak. She moved away from Elijah,
knowing that she wasn’t that teenage girl that on a deeper level felt inferior
to this woman.

“Wow,
not the shy, timid little thing you were back in the day, are you?” Meghan said
and smiled, but it was far from friendly.

“What
Elijah and I do is none of your business. In fact,
us
breathing hasn’t been your business for over four years, Meghan.”

Meghan
pursed her lips, and looked over Freya’s shoulder at Elijah. “Robbing cradles
now, Elijah? I didn’t think that was your style.”

“Robbing
graves, Meghan? That is so your style.” Freya pointedly looked at the elderly
man Meghan had been sitting with, the one that screamed money. She also
shouldn’t have stooped to Meghan’s level, but the bitch had this coming.

“Excuse
me? So because you’re grown now and have Elijah at your back you think you can
speak to me this way?” Meghan scoffed. “If it wasn’t for me staying with you
after your dad died, forced to take care of his kid, you would have been
homeless.”

Freya
just stared at Meghan, and a part of her, a part that she really didn’t want to
rise, couldn’t help but feel sorry for this woman. “I feel very sorry for you,
I really do.”

Meghan’s
eyes widened before they narrowed.

“You’re
a lonely woman, and always will be. The fact that you look for love in the
wrong places, in the places that are covered in dollar bills, makes me feel so
incredibly sad for you, Meghan. One day you’ll have nothing but the money you
so desperately needed in your life surrounding you. You’ll have no one, Meghan,
because no one will love you.” Freya turned and looked at Elijah. “I don’t know
about you, but I think I’m ready to go.”

“You
uppity little girl,” Meghan ground out. “How dare you speak to me that way, and
how dare you just stand by and let this …
child
—”

“Meghan,
marrying you was the worst mistake I ever made, and staying with you all those
years was like a hell all in itself,” Elijah said, this thickness in his voice
clear. “And when that divorce was final, I swear this weight was lifted off of
my shoulders, and this freedom filled me. I didn’t think I’d ever have that
kind of pleasure fill my life again.”

Meghan
made an outraged gasp, but Freya was too stunned by what Elijah said to pay
attention to her.

“But
then I saw Freya again.” He pulled Freya close to him and wrapped his hand
possessively around her waist. “And I realized that the greatest feeling wasn’t
when I got that divorce from you finalized, but when I realized I loved Freya.”

And
the world turned upside down, the earth opened up, and she knew if Elijah
wasn’t holding her she’d fall right in. The way he sounded told her he spoke
the truth.

“But
the past doesn’t matter anymore, Meghan, because I’m looking forward to my
future, and that future is with Freya.” And then Elijah turned, and he and Freya
walked away from a stuttering Meghan, out of the mansion, and into the waiting
limo. She knew, just knew, at that moment that this was the man she’d be with,
that this was the man she wanted to be with. She loved him, and she hadn’t
realized how much until this very moment.

Chapter
Twelve

They’d
made it to the cabin in about two hours, and that entire time as the driver
took them out of the city and toward isolation, all Freya did was lean against
Elijah. But Elijah had loved it, loved that she curled into him, loved that he
could wrap his arm around her and just hold her.

They
now stood in the center of the cabin, their bags on the ground, fire already
roaring, and both of them staring at each other.

“Does
it scare you that I said I love you?” he asked, not sure how she would react to
him mentioning it again. She hadn’t said anything about it on the ride up here,
and a part of him worried about that.

She
didn’t answer right away, and instead moved over to the fire. For several
seconds she watched the flames move along the logs, the gown she wore seeming
almost black in color because of the shadows. Finally she turned and faced him.
“No, it doesn’t scare me, Elijah, because I am falling in love with you.”

His
heart started beating fast and hard, and all he wanted to do was be with her in
every fucking way conceivable. This entire situation was confusing, he admitted
that, but Elijah wasn’t going to turn his back on how he felt, or what he
wanted with Freya. He could see them together, her by his side, and he wanted
that, desperately. That was what scared him the most, the intensity with which
he wanted this woman.

Elijah
was done being alone, done with the random women that couldn’t fill the void in
his heart. Maybe a part of him had separated when he left Meghan, a part that
didn’t think he could ever be happy. The truth was his ex-wife hadn’t made him
feel this kind of pleasure deep in his soul, not the way Freya did. She was
everything to him, he knew that with every part of him, and he was going to
make sure she knew that, too.

****

 
“Come
here, Freya.” His voice was low, hoarse, and there was a touch of dominance in
it.

He might have been a kind of stepparent—sort
of—to her all those years ago, but really she never saw him as that. He’d lived
in the house she did, ate breakfast at the same table she did, but she didn’t
see him as this parental figure, as this father figure. Maybe a part of her
would have liked to, but only because she’d been missing her own dad so much.
But even if at some point, at some level she kind of felt as if this was wrong,
a little taboo, and most definitely tested given their background, she couldn’t
lie and say that she hadn’t always felt safe around Elijah.

But after they’d left the event she’d just
leaned against him, let him hold her, and it had felt so right.
Being
with him felt right. Freya didn’t
want to let that go, didn’t want to lose that.

He was so much older than she was, so much
wiser, more experienced. He didn’t look at her as this teenager anymore, as
this damaged girl. He was looking at her like he wanted to see her naked, like
he wanted to devour her whole. And God, did she want that, especially right
now.

All she could think about was him telling
Meghan he loved her. And then she’d admitted she was falling in love with him,
too. Each day those feelings became stronger, harder to try to ignore.

“Come here.”

All she could focus on was the way his mouth
moved as he said those two words.

She licked her lips and moved that last bit of
space it took to almost have their chests brushing together.

This
is crazy.

But
it feels so good.

He reached out and cupped her waist with one
hand, and covered one side of her face with the other. The scent of him was
intense, intoxicating. He wore the tux still, and damn did he make it look
good. His short dark hair was styled like he was ready to tackle the boardroom,
and the scent of him, good God, the scent of him, that mixture of cologne and
masculinity absolutely drove her insane with lust.

He held her cheek in a tight, almost painful grip.
It was like he was afraid she would turn and leave. But she had no intentions
of doing that, not when she felt this life move through her when he touched
her.

“I love you,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

She swallowed, her heart beating hard and
almost painfully in her chest. “I love you, too,” she whispered.

He brushed the pad of his thumb along her
cheek.

Back and forth, back and forth.

All Elijah did was look into her eyes. God,
his eyes were so green, so clear. She felt herself falling into them, getting
lost in the color, in the deepness of them. Freya felt herself leaning forward,
felt his warm and sweet wine smelling breath brush along her lips.

Here she was, standing in this elegant evening
gown, wanting the damn thing ripped off of her. They were in this gorgeous
cabin, out in the middle of nowhere, and alone. And right now, to her, this
felt good, this felt right. She didn’t want to stop this, didn’t care that he
used to be her family, technically, or that he was over a decade older than she
was.

Freya didn’t care that if her father was still
alive he might look down on her doing something like this. But as soon as that
thought passed through her mind she knew her father would never have looked
down on anything she did. He’d always been so supportive, so understanding. And
he would have been of this, too, as long as she was happy.

Freya didn’t know if Elijah would kiss her,
but she wanted him to, desperately. She saw the way he kept looking at her
lips, felt the way he kept stroking her cheek with his thumb. When he leaned in
she thought he’d kiss her, and end this torment of arousal and need she had
burning inside of her, but he didn’t.

Instead he moved the hand that held her face
to the back of her head. He tunneled his fingers into her hair, tightened his
hold on the strands until the pain mixed with her already climbing and
repressed pleasure, and then broke free into this explosive tingling sensation
along her entire body.

“A part of me sees this as wrong on some
level,” he murmured, staring at her lips. “But I can’t stop. I don’t want to
stop, Freya. I love you, so fucking much, and I won’t deny it.”

She breathed out harshly.

“I just want to get lost in you, to forget
about that time we lived in the same house, and dealt with a woman that wasn’t
meant to be in our lives.”

She licked her lips, knowing he was right, and
not caring or wanting to stop either.

“You have no idea how much I want you right
now, how I felt when I first saw you after all these years.”

She held her breath, looked into his green
eyes, and felt her heart skip a beat.

“I felt like I was looking into something I’d
been missing, if that even makes sense.”

She nodded. “It makes perfect sense, Elijah.”
She’d felt this recognition and electricity move through her when she’d seen him,
a feeling of comfort that had nothing to do with already knowing him. He’d been
in a suit, looking so good, so smart and sophisticated. He’d looked so powerful
and controlled, and something in her had woken up. It had been uncomfortable,
but also pleasing, in a way.

His lips were so close to hers that if he just
leaned forward that last couple of inches that separated them they’d be
kissing. Freya felt desperate for him.

“I want to kiss you,” he said in a low, deep
voice, “and although I’ve kissed you many times already, I feel like I should
go
slow
.”

“I don’t want slow, not anymore,” she said
right after he spoke. It was like neither seemed to breathe in that moment.

She closed her eyes, a gust of stuttering air
leaving her. God, she didn’t think she’d even been this aroused. She felt like
she’d combust right now in front of Elijah.

Her heart was thundering, and she swore her
wetness soaked clean through her panties. He was so much bigger than her
five-foot-four height, nearly a whole foot taller it seemed. His muscles were
also so pronounced, so defined.

“You haven’t kissed me yet.” Although she
wasn’t talking about in general, but right now it felt like she’d never kissed
him before. That’s how much she wanted him. She felt how hard he was for her,
how aroused.

“I haven’t.” He stared in her eyes.

She swallowed. “I want you to, right now. I
want to be with you,” she whispered.

“I won’t stop until you’re mine irrevocably,
Freya.”

Oh.
My. God.

She wanted to tell him she wanted him to cross
that line, too, but the words lodged in her throat. Freya found that nerve,
grabbed onto it, and just spoke out. “I want you, Elijah.”

“
Christ
.”
And then he had his mouth on hers and his tongue speared between her lips.

She wasn’t kissing a man that had once been
married to her stepmother, or a man so much older than she was. She was kissing
a man that wanted her as much as she wanted him.

She was kissing Elijah, the man she loved.

He slid his hands down her shoulders, over her
arms, and gripped her waist tightly. And then he was walking them backward
until she felt the cold, hard wall greeted her, and the heat from the fire
right beside them moving through her clothing.

He hadn’t broken the kiss, and the deep
rumbles that left him had her inner muscles clenching almost painfully. He
opened his mouth wider and deepened the kiss, and then moved his hands down her
thighs, grabbed the dress, and bunched it in his fists. He started to slowly
lift it up, but he stopped far too soon.

“Tell me you want
this, that
this is okay and I’m not going too fast.” He murmured against her mouth, and
all she could do was nod. “I need you to tell me, Freya.” He sounded pained as
he murmured against her lips, but also frantic with his need.

“I do want this. I want you.”

He started grinding his erection into her
belly, and a gasp left her as she let her head fall back against the wall. The
crackling of the fire seemed so intense, so powerful. Or maybe her senses were
just so attuned right now that everything seemed heightened.

Freya wanted this to go further, so she placed
her hands on his pecs and gently pushed him back. He took a stumbled step away
from her, his head downcast and his eyes trained right on her. He was breathing
so hard his chest was rising and falling fiercely.

For several seconds they stood there, just
staring at each other. She didn’t know why she’d pushed him away, or maybe she
did. Maybe she’d pushed him away because she wanted to tempt him in a way she’d
never tempted a man before? Maybe she wanted to be able to see the product of
his desire on his face, and the way he tented his pants because he was so hard
for her.

She licked her lips and knew she didn’t want
to postpone this, knew she didn’t want anything going slow or being stopped by
their thoughts.

“I want you,” he said in a very pained, almost
strained voice. “I want this.”

They stood there several more seconds, neither
speaking, but the sexual chemistry
and
electricity
bouncing between them. “I want you, too,” she breathed out so softly she wasn’t
even sure he had heard her. And then finding her strength, she grabbed the
straps of her dress and pushed them off of her shoulders. She was left standing
there in nothing but her panties.

Freya was really doing this, and she wasn’t
going to stop.